


Decisions

by MadameMeduse



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Alcohol Abuse, Character Study, Dealing with pain and loss, Emotionally constipated Eskel, Eskel as a father figure, Friendship, Jaskier meet another Witcher first, Jaskier's past, Mention of Jaskier's mother, Other, Post Deirde, Protective Eskel (The Witcher), Secrets, Sort of AU, child jaskier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-22 09:54:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30036873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadameMeduse/pseuds/MadameMeduse
Summary: Eskel is a broken man after Deirdre nearly killed him. He decides to hunt her down but then stumbles over an unexpected problem - a little boy who needs his help.Possibly a one-shot, more character study than plot, but maybe I will write another chapter if the plot bunny bites me again. :)
Relationships: Eskel & Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 9
Kudos: 25





	Decisions

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this yesterday without even knowing where it would lead me :) It's calm and has a lot of dialogues, but I hope you like it anyway.

Eskel wasn't sure where the sharp thuds came from when he woke. He cracked his eyes open with a groan and covered his face with his arm, protecting his eyes from the daylight that shone through the cracked window. The stench of his own body odor and hard alcohol hovered in the air and he sighed deeply.

On a good day, he would have known immediately that someone was banging on the door of his tiny inn room. But he hadn't had good days for a while. And so the first thing he had presumed was that the penetrating sound came from the damaged skin on the left side of his face.

He had told himself over and over again he would get used to the blinding pain that felt just like the knife Deirdre Ademyne had used to attack him. While Gull helped. While being drunk, the agony stopped for a while and was replaced by numb relief.

But the mornings after were always terrible. He hated himself for his weakness and his inability to recover completely. All of his Witcher brothers were scared, but they had learned to live with it. They didn't care if people shied away from them. But Eskel still felt miserable when someone flinched at his sight. And the pain always followed when the rejection hit him.

“Coming!”, he growled and got up. When he opened the door, the innkeeper stared up at him. She smelled of fear and annoyance. “What do you want?”

“It's past noon. You have to pay for another day or leave now.” She brushed a lock of greying hair from her forehead. Her nose wrinkled as she eyed him closely. “And that woman left her boy behind.”

Eskel blinked hard. Twice.

“The boy?”, he echoed. “What boy?”

The innkeeper furrowed her brow and crossed her arms over her ample bosom.

“She told me you would take him. Didn't know it would take you so long to sober up.” Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Look, I hid him in the storage room and gave him some food and beer. You need to pay for that, too.”

Eskel's scratched his scars, not even noticing what he was doing before his fingernails drew blood. He stopped abruptly and his mind went blank.

“I'll be down in a minute”, he rumbled and closed the door into the woman's face. It took more than a minute to take a sponge-bath and get into his clothes and armor, but the innkeeper was wise enough to not mention it when he descended to the taproom, saddlebags on his shoulder.

The room stank of tobacco and booze. The boy was sitting in the corner, feet dangling from the bench. His brown hair was tousled from sleep. Blue eyes locked on Eskel's face and went wide with shock.

The Witcher sighed inaudibly. Everybody was afraid of him. A young boy wouldn't be an exception. The child was about ten years old. He wore travel clothing of good quality. Tiny, sturdy boots, a bright blue woolen tunic, and a brown cape that hung from small shoulders.

“You want to speak to me?”, he rasped, voice still rough from heavy drinking. The boy stared up at him, frail hands folded in his lap.

“Show me the medallion”, the child demanded with astounding bravery. Eskel's hung-over head pounded. 

“Why?” It was only one word, but it summarized the events of this day pretty well. The boy furrowed his brows.

“Because my mother told me to wait for a man with golden eyes and a wolf medallion.”

Eskel hummed and pulled the silver pendant from the gambeson jacket. The boy studied it with a strange intensity, then nodded and removed a folded paper from his satchel.

“Here”, he said, suddenly very shy. His small hand wavered mid-air. “It's for you.”

Eskel looked down at the letter and found Vesemir's name on it, written in an elegant hand. Female. The paper smelled faintly of roses and lemon zest. The Witcher exhaled once, twice, and glowered at the boy.

“It's not for me”, he explained slowly, unsure if he wanted to calm himself or the child. “But for a man I know very well. Vesemir. What did your mother tell you?”

The boy gulped visibly and bit his lip.

“Mum told me we would be safe. Because there were bad people after us. We wanted to go to the Witcher castle, but Mum left me here, because -.” His lips trembled. “I don't know why she left me. I had to drink the bitter beer and then I fell asleep.”

Eskel stared down at the letter. There was no seal. He told himself Vesemir wouldn't mind if he opened it. Someone had left a child behind. Nothing new in Eskel's world.

Witchers used to call the law of surprise frequently and when the surprise turned out to be child, they never hesitated to take what was theirs by the ancient rules. Some parents even brought their children to Kaer Morhen, hoping for a better future for their offspring.

Eskel's lips curled into a sarcastic smile. Enduring hunger, diseases, poverty – or being transformed into a monster hunter, a creature people normally spat at while passing by. What an excellent choice to make for a parent.

Life had been easy for Eskel. His good looks had opened doors for him. But now, he suffered the same form of rejection Geralt and Lambert faced every day while being on the Path. It hurt. And he felt pathetic.

Eskel opened the letter and found two texts. One had been written with ink, the other one had been scribbled hastily with a pencil. The same handwriting, though.

_“Master Vesemir, I never forgot about your kindness and the offer you made. It seems I have to hold you to it now. The countess found out Julian is the heir to the shire and not her own son. There were men who attacked me on my way back home. I only survived because some travelers stepped in. I can't risk my boy's life, so I decided to bring him to Kaer Morhen. Please, keep him safe. I will try to come for him. If I won't make it, I trust in you to raise him until he's old enough to decide what he will do._

_Agnieszka_

Eskel pinched the bridge of his nose. He knew how a trap felt. That woman was an acquaintance of Vesemir's. They had a personal connection. There was no way Eskel could get rid of the boy – Julian – now. He had to return to Kaer Morhen and deliver the child.

He didn't have the time to deal with this. Deirdre and her men were out there. He needed to find them before she killed more innocent people. All of this was his fault. He needed to make amends, for his own salvation. Maybe the pain would stop then.

_They are hard on our heels. I found one of your kin at a tavern and decided to leave Julian with him. My fever is bad, but I am sure I can lure them on the wrong track. Please tell my boy I am so sorry._

“It's not nice to read another person's letters”, the boy said precociously and winced as he realized he could have offended Eskel. “Please don't hit me”, he pleaded wide-eyed.

“I won't”, the Witcher murmured and tucked the letter in his saddlebags. “My name is Eskel. Come on now. I will bring you to Kaer Morhen. The Witcher fortress.”

The boy's freckled face lit with cautious joy.

“Will my Mum be at the fortress?”, Julian asked timidly. “Because she told me she needed to leave me alone, but we would meet there.”

“I – don't know.” Eskel scratched his face again. “But we will see. I have a horse outside. We need to buy provisions and then we head north.”

“Are you a nice man?”, Julian solemnly enquired and folded his tiny arm over his chest. “Because you don't look nice, scars and all.”

Eskel coughed and hid his smile behind his hand. Most of the people just stared at him, made the sign against the evil, or whispered behind his back. The boy had addressed him directly. Brave. Innocent and possibly dumb, but brave.

“I won't say I am a nice man”, the Witcher admitted. “But I promise I'll keep you safe. Sometimes it's good to have a mean man at your side while fighting other mean men.”

Julian thought about it, nodded, and hopped off the bench.

“Alright”, the boy said. “I'll go with you.”

Eskel paid the innkeeper and took Julian to the stables. His horse, a sturdy black mare, eyes them suspiciously when she saw them.

“This is Coal, Julian. She bites, so mind your fingers. But she's a good horse and likes carrots. Maybe you two will become friends.”

The child studied the animal with squinted eyes, but then he nodded reluctantly. Soon, they rode out of the village, Julian safely tucked in his little cloak, holding tight to Eskel's belt. It turned out the boy was smart and incredibly chatty after warming up to him.

Julian talked non-stop. He could name every flower at the side of the road, the birds, the insects. If he didn't talk, he sang and hummed sweet nonsense songs. Sometimes, when they met other travelers, he waved at them and wished them a good day.

The two of them were quite a pair, Eskel thought. He was aware of the puzzled glances people exchanged when they spotted a terribly scarred Witcher and a bubbly child.

But he also noticed that all of the things Julian talked about freely weren't personal. When he tried to question the boy about his mother and his home, the child became thin-lipped and changed the topic as fast as possible.

They made camp at dusk. The late summer air was warm, but already held the promise of the coming winter season. Eskel built a small campfire and they shared a meal of cheese and bread. Both of them were exhausted. The boy was tired and his eyelids dropped from time to time. Eskel rubbed his forehead and temples. His headache was still there, it pulsated in his skull and radiated into his neck. This wasn't just a hangover. 

The boy observed Eskel with curious eyes. The Witcher sighed.

“You can ask about them if you want”, he murmured and the boy blinked in surprise. He hadn't expected to be caught staring.

“Does your face hurt?”, Julian wanted to know and fiddled at the muddy seam of his cloak. “Is this why you look so grumpy?”

Eskel stifled a laugh. Whenever people dared to ask about his scars, they normally wanted to talk about the monster that had caused his injuries. Or if he had killed his attacker. Nobody except his Witcher family had ever asked about his feelings and his pain.

“Yes, it hurts”, he said and rubbed his cheek. “I have bad headaches almost every day.”

“You have to chew birch bark”, Julian advised him gravely. “And you shouldn't scratch the scars so they can heal.”

“Thanks for the advice. But how do you know?” Eskel smiled and felt how his tense shoulders relaxed a bit.

“My Mum's a healer. She taught me everything she knows.”

It was the first personal information that Eskel learned from Julian that had nothing to do with the letter. He soon found out that he needed to talk about his own life is he wanted to learn more about the boy. 

Over the course of the next days, Julian told him he considered his mother the most beautiful woman on the Continent. And that she was smart and kind and made an excellent cherry pie.

Eskel didn't give away the whole truth about Kaer Morhen, but he needed to admit that Witchers didn't have mothers when they rode over the wast grassland that would lead them up to the mountains.

“No mother? But someone must have given birth to you or you wouldn't be here”, Julian scolded him with the sincere outrage only a child could experience. “You're making fun of me.”

Eskel shook his head.

“Of course I have a mother. But she thought I should become a Witcher and so she sent me to Kaer Morhen.”

He only noticed the parallels when he felt how Julian's grip on his belt tightened. He turned around and steadied the horse with a tight grip on the reins. 

“Does my mum want me to be a Witcher?”, the boy asked, suddenly pale and shaky. “I don't want to be a Witcher!”

“Calm down”, Eskel hummed. “We can teach you a lot of interesting things, but there's no need to become one of us. There are only four Wolf Witchers left and there won't be more of us ever again.”

“Oh.” Julian frowned at that new piece of information. “What happened? Don't they send you boys anymore?”

Eskel cursed his own words and Julian's curiosity.

“Kaer Morhen has been attacked a while ago. It was a terrible fight and now there's only the four of us. Vesemir is the oldest Wolf Witcher. He's a friend of your mother's. Geralt and Lambert are my brothers – not my real brothers, but it feels like they are flesh of my flesh. We only meet during the winter and in spring, we leave the fortress again to travel and hunt monsters. Only Vesemir stays there for the whole year. My brother Geralt has white hair and doesn't talk much. But he's nice. Lambert is a bit grumpy.”

“Like you?”

Eskel thought about his youngest brother and made a face.

“More like – a skunk. He behaves like a really mean person, but inside, he's sort of – fluffy.”

The boy snickered and the Witcher was relieved that he had been able to defuse the situation. But he hadn't reckoned with Julian's persistence.

“Do you think Lambert will like me?”

Eskel gritted his teeth.

“I am not sure”, he admitted as sincerely as possible. “But I think Vesemir will be nice enough so you can ignore Lambert. He spends most of the winter days in his laboratory anyway.”

“What does he do there?”

“He makes potions and bombs”, Eskel said flatly and Julian started to bounce with excitement. 

“He blows up things?”

“We all blow up monsters and their nests.”

The boy fell silent for a while and seemed to think about what he had heard. Later, when they had made camp and roasted a hare Eskel had shot, he suddenly blurted out:

“You can call me Jaskier. That's the name my mother chose because buttercups are her favorite flowers. She only calls me Julian when I did something wrong.”

And so, Julian became Jaskier. The name fitted the boy, as he was bright, resilient, and had a sunny disposition. But Eskel knew that the child often cried during the nights and whispered his mother's name in his sleep. It reminded him of his first days at Kaer Morhen so long ago and his heart swelled with sympathy.

Jaskier often asked him if he thought his mother would wait for him at Kaer Morhen, but Eskel never answered the question precisely. He wasn't sure if the boy was aware that his mother had been sick when she had added the scribbled lines to her letter.

Maybe she would escape from the men who were after her. But Eskel suspected that a single woman on the run wouldn't survive for long. He wondered if the boy knew it as well, but clung to his hope as his last straw.

The landscape changed and slowly ascended towards the menacing grey silhouette of the Blue Mountains. They bought a calm mule and all the provisions they needed to make the trip up the mountain path young Witchers referred to as the “Killer”. Of course, Eskel didn't tell Jaskier about it, but he made it clear that Jaskier needed to follow his orders more precisely than ever.

He had seen too many smashed bodies over the years and he didn't want to lose the boy now, Kaer Morhen within reach.

Luckily, nothing happened. Jaskier was a docile as a lamb and most of the time too tired to come up with any strange ideas. Eskel knew the boy hoped to see his mother at Kaer Morhen and realized a part of him shared the boy's nervousness. Knowing that Agnieszka was at the keep, taking over the care for her son, would make it easier for him to leave for Lower Kaedwen again.

Deirdre was still out there. She was his responsibility. He didn't need another one. He wasn't strong enough to care for someone. Not yet.

Vesemir waited for them at the portcullis. His bearded face was lit by a soft smile.

“Eskel, I am so happy to see you again.”

The old Witcher had been a merciless man before the sacking of Kaer Morhen. Fair-minded and understanding, but merciless. He had always followed the Grandmaster's orders, doing everything he could to turn a bunch of homesick boys into fierce warriors. Eskel had suffered under Vesemir's tutelage, he had bled and cried.

The attack of the religious fanatics had changed everything. The old man had understood that the days of the Wolf Witcher's were over and that it was about time to walk outside the beaten path of violence and rigid rules.

It hadn't happened overnight, of course. But the years had softened the old man's heart and so his gaze was tender as he pulled Eskel into a bear hug. It felt good. But Vesemir's words reminded him that he had indeed left his home months ago without even hoping to come back alive.

“It's good to be here”, Eskel answered sheepishly and waved Jaskier over. “Vesemir, this is Jaskier. His mother gave him into our custody.”

“Is she here?”, the boy blurted out, hope shimmering in his blue eyes. “She promised she would come when she got rid of the men.”

Vesemir's bushy brows furrowed over his confused eyes. He looked at Eskel again, searching for answers he didn't possess. 'Later', Eskel mouthed silently and the old man nodded.

“No, boy, I am afraid I'm alone these days. But now come in, you look like you need a warm soup and a bed.”

Jaskier's shoulders dropped and his gaze drifted over the crumbling walls. Eskel knew it was hard to feel hope in the presence of such awful destruction, so he took the boy's hand into his. They had never touched directly before and he was surprised to feel the soft tingling of magic under his skin. Jaskier felt it, too, because he looked up, bewildered by the sensation. Suddenly, the boy smelled like anxiety and tears.

“It's far more beautiful on the inside”, Eskel promised and pressed the boy's hand lightly. “There are painting on the walls of the banquet hall. I like the portrait of Georg von Kagen best. He was a Griffin Witcher and killed a ruthless dragon. There are many things to see and learn here.”

The boy nodded slowly and blinked away the moisture that hazed his eyes.

“I will try”, Jaskier promised with a shaky voice. “We need to tend to the mule and Coal now. They're tired.”

They unloaded the supplies and stored them away. Vesemir had prepared a table in the kitchen as they finally entered the keep. Jaskier literally lunged at the hot stew and the fresh bread and ate at breathtaking speed. Shortly after finishing the meal, he fell asleep at the table, head resting on his folded arms.

“You need to read this”, Eskel explained and handed over the letter. The old man examined it thoroughly and pressed his lips for a moment.

“What happened exactly? What did she say about her situation?”

Eskel shrugged uncomfortably.

“I was drunk that night. White Gull. Only found the boy and the letter in the morning. The mother was long gone.”

Vesemir harrumphed lowly and observed the sleeping boy.

“Well, he can stay, of course. I owe his mother my life.”

“Do you think she will make it up here?”, Eskel asked reluctantly and the old man swayed his head from side to side.

“I don't know. She's a brilliant healer, but only a human woman.”

Eskel exhaled and scratched his scars absently.

“I tried not to get his hopes up. I am sorry you will need to tell him that she's not coming back.”

“I can manage.” Vesemir folded his calloused hands. “You aren't asking questions about him and his mother. Does it mean you'll be leaving shortly?”

Eskel's finger traced the lines of the woodgrain on the tabletop. He didn't look up. Of course, he wanted to know why the boy was in danger. Or if Agnieska would make it up the mountain pass and mother and son would be reunited again.

“You know why.”

Vesemir just hummed.

“I do. And I understand why. But in the end, Deirdre wasn't your responsibility alone. You asked for the law of surprise when you saved her father because the Witcher tradition forced you to do it. And all of us made the decision we wouldn't help her because we wanted to preserve what was left of Kaer Morhen.”

“But I am nevertheless to blame. I should have played a role in her life. Maybe I could have saved her.”

“Son, the past is the past. We are Witchers. We aren't made to form bonds, but to fight so that others can. In the end, it wasn't your fault she entirely snapped. She could have defeated only her brother's men and leave it to that. But instead, she tried to kill you and then decided to murder all those innocent people to make them pay for the injustice she suffered during her life.”

“Vesemir, I appreciate your words, but -.”

He didn't want to get invested. Deirdre filled his days and nights, his nightmares, his soul. There was no place for a chatty child that had taken a liking to him.

“I know all of my sons and you, Eskel, have the strongest sense of morality. Of course, you need to go. But I wish you would have allowed yourself to heal first.” The old Witcher's gaze was filled with genuine concern when he stood and started collecting the used dished. Jaskier stirred. The boy's eyelids fluttered, but he didn't wake.

“I am fine”, Eskel mumbled and raised his hands in defense. “It's just searing headaches.”

Vesemir's brows shot up at the blatant understatement, but he refrained from making further comments. The dishes clattered softly when the old man carried them to the sink.

“Get him to your room. And then you should try to rest as well.”

Eskel shot Vesemir a grateful look and picked the boy up very gently. Jaskier mumbled something incoherent and slumped into the Witcher's arms like a sack of grain. The child still didn't wake up when Eskel removed his boots and cloak and curled up on the bed as soon as his body touched the mattress.

The sudden silence wrapped around Eskel's strained nerves like a soothing blanket. The Witcher sighed deeply. His room was cool, so he stacked up firewood in the hearth and lit it with a short wave of Igni. He knelt down, placing his hands on his thighs. The nights with Jaskier on the road had been short because he had stayed awake for most of them to watch over the child. Now, meditation came to him easily. Eskel bowed his weary head and breathed. Just breathed.

The next time he opened his eyes, it was morning. Jaskier sat in the bed and ruffled his hair, eyes fogged with sleep. 

“What are you doing?”, the boy mumbled. His gaze was filled with a trust that touched him deeply, but he tried to brush it off. “Didn't you sleep?”

“Witchers don't need much sleep”, Eskel explained softly. “We meditate. It's sort of an exercise for our bodies and brains. Things become clearer, we can gather our thoughts and make the right decisions.”

The boy stretched his frail arms and moved to the edge of the bed. 

“Do you think my mother is here?”, he asked eagerly and tucked on his boots. “I hope she will make it.” Jaskier hesitated. “But until then, can you show me the paintings on the walls?”

Eskel rose and straightened his back.

“Jaskier, I will leave today. As soon as possible. There's something I need to do.”

The boy's face crumpled.

“You will leave me with the old man? He smells so strangely.”

Eskel chuckled against his will.

“Vesemir will take good care of you. And maybe in a month or two, my brothers will arrive. Geralt will show you how to fight and pester Lambert. I promise it will be fun.”

Jaskier hung his head, but then shrugged, pretending he didn't care. But the Witcher knew the child felt hurt.

“Alright”, Jaskier mumbled and plucked his underlip. “What do you need to do?”

Eskel wanted to come up with a good lie, but he was aware that Jaskier would possibly find out when he met Geralt and Lambert. Especially Lambert. The youngest Witcher never minced his words.

“There was a woman named Deirdre”, Eskel rasped and wondered why his voice nearly failed him. “She came to Kaer Morhen to ask for help. But we couldn't give her what she wanted. She got angry and left. And then decided to do very bad things to everyone she meets. I need to find her.”

Jaskier's eyes went wide with disappointment and horror.

“Will you kill her?”

The Witcher nodded solemnly. Jaskier stared at him for a second before he asked again, voice very thin:

“I need your help, too. Will you change your mind? You didn't help Deirdre.”

The boy's eyes suddenly swam in angry tears and Eskel's mouth went dry. All of his guilt came crashing down on him again and a sharp pain built up in his jaw, meandering through the scar tissue on his cheek.

“No, I won't”, he said as determined as possible. “This is something completely different.”

“You're lying!”, Jaskier shouted and bolted out of the door before Eskel could stop him.

The Witcher sighed. So much for his meager attempts to do the right thing for once. It seemed like he had failed again. Another short chapter of his existence was over. He briefly wondered what would become of the boy and if they would meet again after he had hunted down Deirdre.

But that was another chapter. And maybe he wouldn't play a role in it.


End file.
